In Shining White Armor
by Madel
Summary: Sometimes it takes more than just slaying the dragon to be a hero. Reviews please!
1. Noble Deed atop a Noble Steed

Mark Andrews sat staring across the barren landscape, gloved hand shielding his eyes from the bright, hot sun. His long brown hair danced quickly across his face, playing in the light breeze. As he brushed the auburn strands away from his clear green eyes, Mark could plainly see the shape of a large dragon in the distance.

The thing was flying low to the ground, firing off great bouts of flame. Against the waves of heat floating up from the sand, Mark could just make out the glint of metal. Studying the scene closer, he concluded that it was a vehicle, most likely some poor wanderers being harassed by one of the winged beasts that ruled the sky. That just would not do.

Mark turned around and took a few steps towards the yellow Yamaha Enduro DT 400 dirt bike that waited for him. Swinging one leg over his noble steed, Mark kicked started the engine and put the bike into gear. As his right wrist twisted the throttle, warming up the machine, his left hand pulled a pair of dirty goggles from the pocket of his leather bomber jacket and fitted them over his head. Mark pulled his feet off the ground, released the foot brake, and shot off across the Arizona desert.

Rocks and red dirt flew past; the air whistled by his ears. Still Mark pushed hard on the throttle, working as much power out of the bike as he thought it could give. The distance between himself and the wanderer-pursuing dragon decreased rapidly. The orange balls that tormented the fleeing humans grew larger, as did the dragon. Mark could see now that the vehicle was an old army jeep, and that the occupants were firing handguns at the monster in foolish hope of defeating it.

As the space between the Jeep and the Yamaha shriveled away, Mark risked releasing the handlebars with one hand and reached to the side of his bike, pulling from there a two-foot section of metal pipe. Holding this at shoulder level, he clicked a small lever with his middle finger and the two-foot cylinder became and eight-foot spear, springing out with a metallic resonance. The gap closed, time seemed to speed ever faster, and Mark urged his bike still faster.

He was a firm believer in the saying "Everything happens for a reason." So when the ground angled upwards into what can only be described as a ramp and Mark found himself flying through the air, he knew that he was either here to die or to kill a big lizard.

Time stood still. The bike was in mid-air, just above the dragon's head. The dragon had its mouth open; fumes spewed from its lower jaw towards the Jeep below. Mark held his weapon in both hands now, using all the strength in his arms to drive the point downwards.

The spearhead connected with reptilian flesh, and time assumed its normal speed. Mark was pulled from his bike, the spear being firmly lodged in the dragon's skull. His body was whipped around through the air and he landed with a sickening crunch on the rocky ground. The dragon shrieked and lashed its head about for a moment before falling to the ground, rear leg still twitching.

Through the black haze that was rapidly becoming his vision, Mark Andrews saw the grimy faces of three men standing over him. Loud noises filled his ears, and somewhere in his mind he knew that the men were talking to him. Then everything went black, and Mark remembered nothing.


	2. Hell or Heaven?

It was cold. That was the first thing Mark noticed when he regained consciousness. One might think that he would have noticed the pain first, or the worry at not knowing where he was, but after living his whole life wandering the scorching sands, the first thing Mark became aware of was that it was cold.

He opened his eyes as much as he could manage, which was not much- his left was swollen shut and his right had a very large scab across it. What he could see was the small, empty room in which he was laying, the rotting door hanging perilously from one hinge. Mark tried to lift his hand, but found that his arm from the shoulder down was numb and immovable. He tried the other hand, this time managing to lift it a few inches off the grey blanket before it fell back into its place.

His head was far too cloudy to try and move about, so he instead remained still, trying to sort out the confusing images in his head. Mark remembered a dragon, but then how could he not? He had been hunting dragons since he was a teenager. There was a lapse in his memory. Images of a dragon and a Jeep jumped wildly to a hazy view of the sky. People had been standing over him; he could see their dark forms looming in.

Anxiousness built inside him.

"_What are these images that haunt my mind_?" he asked himself. "_Why can't I remember anything that happened after…after…? What day is this?_"

Fear began to set in as Mark frantically tried to remember something- _anything. _He knew that he had been out in the desert, and he vaguely recalled speeding towards something shiny in the distance before everything went dark. Then there were people…dark shapes…and he awakens, nearly paralyzed, and in pain.

"Oh God, I'm in Hell, aren't I?" he mumbled, eyes wide with self-loathing. "I always knew this was coming. I told myself I should have been better, tried harder. Oh, what have I done to myself?"

"Broken three ribs, your right arm in two spots, and cracked your head on a rock," came a quiet, gentle voice. "And to answer your other question: no, you aren't in Hell...at least not yet." A slender young woman stepped through the open doorway. In his frantic state of mind, Mark had failed to notice her entrance. "I'm Maria, by the way. Maria Trilla. My father was one of the men you saved yesterday, and he asked me to make sure you were comfortable and well fed."

Mark stared for a moment before realizing that his mouth was open. He shut it hastily. Maria was tall and thin, but with the right curves in the right places. Her clothes were simple and loose, but not so loose that Mark was left wondering. Her long brown hair poured over her shoulders, silky and soft. Her eyes, big and golden brown, were framed by thick, dark lashes. She possessed a kind of beauty that Mark had not seen since long, long before the dragons came. In a word, she was stunning.

Maria was also very keen, and it didn't get by her that the man on the cot found her attractive. She smiled and blushed softly, and quickly turned her back and pretended to fiddle with something Mark couldn't see. After a quick second to compose herself, she spun slowly around, this time with a tray in her hands. Steam poured out of a bowl and a cup, and the tantalizing aroma of ripe strawberries was filling the small room.

Mark grinned, inhaling deeply. His stomach growled in anticipation. Maria laughed softly and set the tray down next to Mark's cot. Creamy oatmeal sloshed inside the bowl, and herbal tea swirled honey colored in the cup.  
"The food is brimming with all kinds of proteins and fibers, and should give you some energy," Maria began. "The tea is an old recipe, and supposedly promotes fast healing. With all the things that might have survived the dragon's fire, this one has had more use than most. There are so many things we might have been able to use, if only they weren't ash now. Oh, listen to me, going on about things we can't change. Well, I have my chores to attend to, and Father wouldn't want me dawdling about and making a fool of myself. I'll come by later- when I'm finished- to make sure you're alright."

And with that, she stepped through the doorway and out of the room, leaving Mark to gape at the dark hallway beyond his resting place. "I'm Mark. Mark Andrews. You're very pretty, did you know that? Thanks for the food, I'm starving. Nice to have met you," he said to the grey plaster walls. "Anything would have been better than that dumb look. Stupid, Mark; that was very stupid."

Maria's head peeked around the corner, her eyes sparkling. A big grin was on her face and her cheeks were flushed red. "I forgot to leave you a spoon," she whispered. Slipping back into the room, she set the utensil on the tray next to the bowl and retreated to the door once more, still crimson faced. "Nice to have met you too, Mark."

Mark found himself staring at the doorway once more. After a short while, he managed to blink. Another span of time, and he inhaled.

Slowly he became aware that the scent of strawberries had dissipated. Looking down at the bowl, he watched the creamy substance slowly harden, unable to signal his hand to move. His brow furrowed, and he sniffed the air, searching for that delicious aroma. All he could smell was the crud that was corrupting his oatmeal. In fact, now that he thought about it, the items on the tray didn't smell anything like strawberries.

"_Well where did that scent come from_?" Mark wondered.


	3. Talk of the Past

Mark's days went by very slowly. In his condition, his body wouldn't allow him much movement and he was forced to lie in his cot day after day after day. The fear of lethargy crept at the edges of his thoughts; the most exercise he received was in getting up to use the bedpan. If it hadn't been for the nutritious food that he forced down his throat every night, Mark was sure he would have become atrophic. Every night that gooey substance was brought to him. Every night he smiled pleasantly and slurped and swallowed and held his tongue until the stuff was gone. It was, apparently, the only available food, and Mark hated the stuff. But he smiled when it was brought to him, because mealtimes meant seeing Maria.

Those moments made the days go by so much faster, and at the same time made the hours leading up to them drag feet through mud. When he was with her, Mark couldn't keep his wits about him. He found himself talking about all sorts of things he had never had an interest in before: pre-dragon politics, agriculture, geography, religion, literature, and random articles that seemed to flow from some endless container of mundane thoughts. He even enjoyed talking Michelangelo and da Vinci.

Eventually they reached the subject of Mark's life. He wasn't sure how the topic came about, but before long he was reciting how he had loathed that one particular teacher, how he had stood up to Dwight Wicks in the fourth grade and received his first black eye, and how he didn't kiss a girl until his last year in high school. He talked about his college days, and his unquenchable youthful desire for adventure. He regaled Maria with stories of pranks he and his roommates had executed, punishments he had weaseled out of, the time he had corrected his teacher and gotten a textbook rewritten. Mark was, it turned out, an engineer and practical genius. He had a penchant for mechanics and machinery, and often spent his free time inventing new and interesting devices and gadgets. His work kept his mind sharp, and his position as tight end for the college team kept his body physically fit.

Maria couldn't hear enough of those. She would listen for hours on end while Mark talked about his football games. The victory over LSU, the comeback against Penn State, the Notre Dame scandal that had fans storming the field: her eyes sparkled as Mark fondly diverted her with his tales.

She informed him of her home in return. There were two levels buried underground near the Grand Canyon that served as both bunker and lodging for the survivors of the scattered human race. Men and women had come together to build a relatively safe haven to wait out the storm that threatened earth and had discovered this one-time fallout shelter amidst the wreckage. It was the perfect location to hide: weapons, ammunition, food, water, and all the commodities of modern living gathered in one impregnable fortress.

"Father and the others found it in a park station on the North Rim. There's not much up there, but there's a road that was mostly closed. Father says the government put it there as an access route for their employees in case something happened, like nuclear war. They wanted everyone 'important' safe and sound in here. Well, the joke was on them. A bunch of tourists and lost townsfolk found it first. Of course, it's not really in the most appealing condition," Maria grimaced at the peeling wallpaper. "But it's underground, so it stays cool in the heat of the day, and, like I said, we have everything we need."


End file.
